A Face Like Glass by Frances Hardinge Page B

What were they expecting, with you dangling over Wrath’s Descent like this?’
    ‘I’m not putting on Faces!’ Neverfell shouted in desperation. ‘I don’t even know how I have Faces – I don’t remember learning any! And I
don’t know why they change the way they do! I never even saw a mirror before I came here! And now somebody in here is trying to kill me, and I don’t know why! You have to believe
me!’
    ‘Yes. Yes, I really do have to believe you.’ Again the small, dark smile. ‘Oh dear. We’re going to have to do something about you, aren’t we?’ He
kicked his heel against the wall thoughtfully. ‘Do you want to get out of here?’
    Neverfell gripped the bars, nodded furiously and managed the world’s smallest, mousiest ‘yes’.
    ‘Then I will see what I can do. But you will have to trust me. What have you told the Enquiry so far?’
    Neverfell wracked her brain. ‘Not really anything – they haven’t really asked me much since I broke the mirror they gave me.’
    ‘Well, you will need to talk to them about your history.’ He raised a hand to hold off Neverfell’s protest. ‘I can see that you are trying to protect somebody. However,
let me tell you what the Enquirers already know.
    ‘They know that your name is Neverfell, and that you are the apprentice of Cheesemaster Grandible. After the canal water washed the oil of cloves off you, there was nothing to disguise the
smell of cheese, and they deduced your trade in one sniff. After that, it was only a matter of time before that black velvet mask of yours was identified by couriers who had visited the various
cheese tunnels.’
    ‘Is Master Grandible in trouble?’ Neverfell’s heart plummeted. She had tried so hard to protect him, and now it seemed the scent of her clothes and skin had betrayed him.
    ‘I am afraid so.’
    ‘But none of this is his fault! He didn’t even know I was out of his tunnels!’ Bitter as the shock of the mirror had been, Neverfell could not bear to think of her master
taking the blame for her actions.
    ‘That’s not the problem. He’s in danger of arrest for hiding and harbouring you all these years.’
    ‘Why?’ The cold iron of the bars bit into Neverfell’s fingers as she clutched at them, and the most important question burst from her. ‘ What’s wrong with
me ?’
    ‘You really don’t know, do you?’ The stranger contemplated her for a few seconds with his head on one side, long enough that Neverfell started to feel a creeping horror of
hearing the answer to her question. ‘Do you want to know?’
    She nodded.
    ‘Nothing,’ he answered. ‘Nothing’s wrong with you, except that you don’t have Faces . What you have on the front of your head has the usual eyes, nose, mouth,
that sort of thing, but your expressions are a sort of . . . window. They show exactly what you’re thinking and feeling. In detail.
    ‘Nobody in Caverna is supposed to look like that. Nobody. Even outsiders can usually manage a few clumsy Faces, though their own emotions tend to leak through. But you? Every time a
thought crosses your mind, it crosses your face at speed, like a wild pony. That’s why the Enquirers can’t bear to look at you. Right now you’re upset to the point of shattering,
and your expression is too painful for them to see.’
    ‘So . . . they think I’m an outsider ?’
    ‘Yes, of course they do. That’s what you are. Aren’t you?’
    ‘I . . . don’t know.’ Neverfell had lost all her moorings. Was she an outsider? Could she have known another world during her first forgotten years of life? A thousand little
details and unspoken thoughts started singing together, and her ears filled with a rush. ‘I don’t remember anything before I turned up in Master Grandible’s tunnels, about seven
years ago.’
    ‘Nothing at all? Nothing about your life, or how you came to Caverna, or who smuggled you in?’
    Neverfell shook her head slowly. Was it true? Could she really be an